


The Leshen

by KatiraPathara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Combat, Gen, Geralt totally makes a pass at Shani, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Leshen - Freeform, Oxenfurt, Roach the horse, Short One Shot, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 08:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiraPathara/pseuds/KatiraPathara
Summary: Geralt just wants to go home to Kaer Morhen but it can't be that easy.





	The Leshen

To Geralt’s annoyance, the message board at the crossroads approaching Oxenfurt held nothing worth looking into. While this late into the season most monsters worth hunting had gone to ground as their prey dwindled, the faculty at Oxenfurt Academy were always looking for monster parts for their alchemical studies. He cursed to himself. With one fat contract, he’d have enough coin to make the trek to Kaer Morhen before true winter set in. Roach snorted and nudged Geralt’s shoulder.

“I know, I know.” Geralt patted the bay mare’s nose. “I’m hungry too. At least you can eat the grass.”  He turned his attention to the dense surrounding wood and the well worn road. “If you can find any.”

Overhead, a crow wheeled, and then another. Geralt’s finely tuned senses pulled tight, like the strings of Dandelion’s prized lute. Sometimes seeing the crows meant nothing, but this was Leshen territory, one could never be too careful.

Geralt slapped the mare’s rump. “Go on girl, get out of here. I’ll whistle when I need you.” Roach snorted and stomped as he looped the reins up over the pommel. “Don’t be stubborn. You know I can take care of myself.”

Roach jerked her head and snorted once more before trotting off down the path.

The air hung thick here, full of rotting moss and ancient wide trunked trees. A mist sprung up around his boots in the cool evening air, blanketing and muting the forest’s sounds. Each step had to be carefully placed to avoid the roots that crawled and writhed around themselves. He uncorked a vial of Swallow potion and drank it, if his intuition was right, he was going to need it.

In the shifting mist, Geralt eyes played tricks on him, making branches and roots alike appear to move. He advanced deeper into the woods, ears straining for the snap of a twig or rustle of dry leaves. The smell of wet loam and rot intensified and permeated the air. He wasn’t alone.

A whisper of a branch brushing against the ground caught Geralt’s attention. He leapt away, rolled, and jumped to his feet, silver sword in hand. A leshen nearly twice his height loomed over him, its branch and vine woven arms were open wide ready to strike. The deer skull head radiated malice.

“I’m not here to harm your forest, Leshy.” Geralt held his arms wide, mirroring the Leshen’s stance. He didn’t, however, return his sword to its scabbard. He wasn’t a fool and this wasn’t his first Leshen, he had the scars to prove it. “I’m just passing through. If you let me go I’ll have no reason to kill you.”

The monster twisted its head as if listening, perhaps considering.

“But I’ll warn you. If you choose to fight me, it will end badly for you.” Geralt held perfectly still, breath calm, eyes alert for any change.

It didn’t take long. The Leshen swiped its razor clawed toward Geralt’s neck, aiming for a quick kill. Geralt ducked into a spin and sliced his sword against the vine and bark bound chest. It roared and swung again, this time missing Geralt’s head by a fraction. While Leshens were strong, they could never match the speed of a Witcher.

Geralt struck again, and again, hoping to weaken the monster, to break and chip away at the green wood holding it together. Again and again, the Leshen swung and sought to cut him open with those fierce claws. These fights never ended quickly, and rarely ended well.

With each dodge, each parry, each twist and spin to strike the monster again, Geralt felt his stamina drain away. He’d gone days without a proper meal, and the potion on an empty stomach brought with it a spike of nausea. He’d have to start making progress on bringing down the beast before his reflexes started to slip.

Weighing his options, which were swiftly running out, he formed his fingers to make igni. Leshens, being made of wood, were particularly susceptible to the sign and would burn. However, unlike other creatures, they would keep fighting until they could no longer stand. It would cost Geralt the last of his endurance to cast the sign strong enough to do any harm. It was worth the risk. His breath already burned in his lungs. His arms felt leaden.

Igni burst from Geralt’s fingers, striking the Leshen. It burst into bright flames and reeled back, arms flailing and swatting at its chest. It leapt at Geralt, powerful arms reaching to grab and cut. Geralt dodged back, deflecting the blows. The heel of his boot wedged in a twist of those treacherous roots and he fell backward.

The Leshen’s claws raked across the front of his armor, rending the chain and leather alike, narrowly missing the skin at his neck. It pivoted to swing again. Geralt rolled to avoid the smashing strike that splintered the roots in the spot he was sitting.

The Leshen stumbled. The fire snaking through its trunk and out its vacant eye sockets started to take its toll.

One more strike. That’s all it would take. Geralt heaved himself to his feet, away from the heat of the fire, away from the flailing limbs. He jumped into the air and aimed for the back of the monster’s exposed neck with the intent to sever it.

While midair, the Leshen twisted and caught Geralt’s ankle. The perfectly aimed blow skittered harmlessly off the flaming deer skull and Geralt tumbled to the ground, striking his head hard enough that stars shot across his vision.

Geralt didn’t see the razor sharp claws as they came down and pierced through his thigh. His adrenaline surged, pushing him to get far enough out of the way to avoid another strike.

Once safely away, Geralt let himself sag down to the forest floor. The wound in his leg burned and bled freely, enough that without some sort of dressing he knew he’d be in trouble. He fumbled for the roll of bandages stowed in his pack, but his fingers kept slipping as did his focus. A single firm knot could mean the difference between him waking up again should he slip into a faint.

Each time he tried, the knot tangled worse in his fingers. The pull to close his eyes for just a moment grew more demanding. His hands went slack. A thought of Yennifer, of Ciri, brought his mind into focus. If he couldn’t tie the knot, he could take another vial of Swallow. It might be enough.

He awoke later to the sound of voices and a familiar harness jingle.

“Hey, Geralt? You still with us?” A Oxenfurt medical student squatted in the roots in front of him, one hand on his cheek studying him intently. She looked familiar. Shani?

Roach nuzzled his ear.

“Good girl.” Geralt reached up and patted the mare’s huge head. “You brought her here didn’t you?”

“Good thing she did. You’re a right mess. I’ll patch you up enough to get back to the school, but then you’ll need some proper work done.”

“You didn’t need to come. I would have been alright.” He groaned and set his teeth as Shani set about her work.

“Well, I’m here now. Take it for what’s it’s worth.”

Geralt leaned up on an elbow. “Did you say I’d get a proper bed?”

“No, I didn’t.” Shani wound a fresh bandage around his thigh and tied it in a tight sure knot, drawing out a grunt from Geralt. “But play nicely and I’ll see you’re taken care of for a few days. That would include a bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first go at Witcher fanfic, so be nice.


End file.
